A Scandalous Countess: A Novel of the Malloren World (31 page)

“The virgin queen? A protest too far, I fear, and I’m sure there’ll be a dozen of them. The men will have the easier part. Most of them will resurrect the togas and robes they keep for the Olympian Revels.”

Babs grinned. “I wonder if Ithorne will repeat his performance
as a lowly shepherd. Very fine legs. You could cover yourself in sheepskin and go as one of his lambs. That’s a symbol of peace.”

“Oh, Babs, you tempt me.”

“Remember that he’s married now.”

“I do, and…Ah!”

“You have a costume idea?” Babs asked. “What?”

“A secret.” Georgia grinned. “A million apologies, Babs, but I must shoo you away, summon Jane, and go to my mantua maker immediately. There’s not a moment to lose!”

“Why can’t I come?” Babs protested.

“Because my costume will be a secret!” But Georgia hugged her. “A Cornelys masquerade on the theme of peace. I feel sure that is a good omen.”

Dracy went to his room and made himself settle to some legal papers he needed to review. Ceddie had not only drained the estate but left the administration in a tangle. Because he’d loved Town, he’d transferred all the estate business to a London firm, and Dracy was in the process of moving it back to Devon. He was going over everything in case he had questions to put to Lacombe, Bray, and Pugh, because he wouldn’t trust any of them further than he could throw an anchor.

He expected word from Georgia about their activities for the day, but when an hour had passed he went down and asked the footman in the hall.

“Lady Maybury has left the house?”

“Yes, your lordship. In haste.” That alarmed, until the man added, “She wished you to know that she has an appointment with her mantua maker and would return for dinner.”

Her mantua maker. Why should he be surprised? Lady May returned to Town and her first thought was of new clothes. He had to accept who she was instead of
constructing an imaginary woman who’d settle cozily in Dracy Manor.

He thanked the footman, tempted to linger in the hope that she’d soon return. Instead, he’d pursue his quest to set his scandalous countess free to wed a duke.

He returned to his room for his gloves and hat, considering his course for the day.

He’d already sent a note to Sir Harry Shaldon and heard back that the man was out of Town. He’d have to find another person who might know Vance’s handwriting, but without help he’d be poking around blindly. He also needed to find a forger, but again, he had no knowledge of such matters, and a criminal wouldn’t be easily unearthed. He was beginning to think his offer to vindicate Georgia rang hollow.

For the moment, the best he could do was glean, and the snatch of gossip at the chophouse made him think much might be learned that way. The favorite gathering places for gentlemen in London were the coffeehouses. They all had their particular clientele, and much business was done there. Last week he’d attended an auction of goods from India at Jonathan’s Coffeehouse in Covent Garden, simply out of curiosity.

He had no need of a mercantile or scholarly coffeehouse, however. He needed one where the idle gentlemen of the beau monde sipped and gossiped. He knew a few of those.

As he returned downstairs, the footman was opening the door to a gentleman elegantly dressed in olive green, with a striped waistcoat, clocked stockings, and high-heeled shoes.

Lord Sellerby, in his natural plumage.

“Lord Sellerby for Lady Maybury,” he said and stepped inside.

The footman allowed him so far but placed himself in the way of progress. “Her ladyship is not at home, milord.”

Sellerby’s
eyes narrowed as if he’d question that, but then he saw Dracy. “My lord!” he said and bowed, but if looks were daggers, as the old saying went, Dracy would at the least be bleeding. He must have heard of the possible betrothal.

“My lord!” Dracy echoed, crossing the hall and trying to hide an unwarranted sense of victory. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“You are leaving?” Sellerby said. “May I walk with you a while?”

Dracy would rather go straight to his task, but there was no polite way to refuse, and perhaps the man deserved an opportunity to vent his bile. Better on his head than Georgia’s. They set off down the street, Dracy having to moderate his stride to Sellerby’s.

“You are enjoying your dalliance in Town, sir?” Sellerby asked.

“Well enough, Sellerby, though I’m unable to dally all the day. My estate makes demands on me.”

“And soon will drag you back to Devon, I have no doubt. I’m sure you find this milieu mere froth after a life on board ship.”

“Only in parts,” Dracy said, wondering where this meandered. “Riots are distressingly solid, and the streets are hazardous at times.”

“They are indeed, sir. They deprived me of my valet last year. Sent the poor fellow out on an errand—a mere few streets—and he was discovered a corpse, struck over the head.”

“Shocking, and you have my condolences.”

“Indeed, he was a superlative valet.”

Dracy assessed Lord Sellerby as one who saw nothing but his own interest. No matter, except that he wanted Georgia.

“I heard the most amusing rumor last night,” Sellerby said.

“Yes?”
Dracy asked, plotting a course to detach himself from his shallow companion.

“I heard—but you will be so diverted, sir!—I heard you were to wed Georgia Maybury. Of course I immediately disabused all.”

“How extraordinarily kind, sir,” Dracy said, “but perhaps unnecessary.”

“Of course, of course. As I said, most amusing.”

“Or perhaps based on truth? After all, I am a guest in Hernescroft House.”

Sellerby halted to look at him. “You are residing there?”

“In the circumstances it seemed suitable.”

“My dear Dracy!” Sellerby recovered and strolled on. “You are new to Town, sir, and even new to England in a sense. You can’t be faulted for a poor understanding of the beau monde.”

“So kind of you, sir,” Dracy said, fascinated.

“In particular, you may not be familiar with the ways of ladies such as Lady Maybury, the navy being a manly world.”

“There were times ashore,” Dracy suggested.

“But not, I’m sure, in the highest circles.”

Dracy didn’t correct him.

“You may not understand, therefore, when a lady is being playful.”

“You refer to Lady Maybury in particular?”

“The most playful of them all, sir. If she has paid you some attentions, even flirted a little…”

“Even kissed me in the gardens at Thretford House?”

Sellerby halted again, and his hand tensed on his gold-topped cane. Dracy planned the best reaction to a blow, keeping in mind that it could be a swordstick.

However, Sellerby relaxed into a smile. “Playfulness, sir, as I said. That gives even more point of my warning.”

“I might find such playfulness enchanting.”

“
Quite so, but it would be an error to take it seriously.”

Enough was enough. This madman needed to be sunk before he distressed Georgia.

“Is the Earl of Hernescroft being playful when he discusses a union with me? Or the countess merely diverting herself by inviting me to lodge at Hernescroft House?”

Dracy could see Sellerby long to hurl an accusation of lying in his face.

Of course he didn’t. That might provoke a duel, and a man like Lord Sellerby would hide under a table at the hint of violence.

“My dear Dracy, I fear the whole family plays with you, though why, I cannot imagine. Have you done them harm? Ah, the horse race!” Sellerby chuckled. “Hernescroft was not best pleased by his defeat. My dear sir, only think. What possible connection can there be between you and Lady Maybury, especially after only two encounters? Whereas I have been her friend and often welcome companion for years. We share all interests and tastes.”

“It does seem unfair, doesn’t it?”

“Incredible, let us say. Am I in error in thinking you inherited a ruined estate and have no other means?”

“No, that’s about the sum of it.”

“Do you have any idea how much Georgia Maybury spends on a single gown?”

“As she has enough to last years, it won’t matter.”

“
Won’t matter!
By Olympus, she never wears a grand gown twice!”

Sellerby was hitting too close to the bone for comfort, but Dracy wouldn’t show it.

“I gather the gown she wore to her sister’s ball wasn’t new.”

“She has just emerged from mourning and will need time to design and commission new wonders.”

“She designs them herself? Then she’s much to be admired.”

Sellerby waved a dismissive hand. “For the most part it’s her maid’s work, and the maid’s sister, Mistress Gifford, but Lady Maybury has perfect taste.”

“I agree with you,” Dracy said, thinking of a kiss.

“She won’t marry you,” Sellerby stated impatiently. “I merely seek to spare you embarrassment.”

“So kind, sir. May I spare you in turn? Once free of scandal, I predict she’ll marry Beaufort.”

He expected that obvious truth to stagger Sellerby, but the man smiled slightly. “Will she ever be free of scandal, however? I would wash her clean in an instant if I could, Dracy, but some of the stain has gone too deep. Her true friends will stand by her, but I don’t count Beaufort among them.”

“Then there’ll be other suitors.”

“Willing to overlook all? No, no, she will, in due course, marry me.”

Such overweening confidence. But then Dracy saw something else.

A sneer?

No, a touch of amusement.

By all that was holy, could Sellerby have decided to set some stains deeply in order to remove the competition? By means of a letter, revealed at the Thretford ball? A wild idea, especially when Sellerby had worked hard to weaken the scandal by trying to sway the dowager Lady Maybury in Georgia’s favor.

“You give me food for thought, Sellerby; indeed you do. I thank you, but I must now be on my way.”

Sellerby bowed. “A delightful interlude, Dracy.”

Dracy bowed back. “Positively illuminating, Sellerby.”

He walked briskly away, not caring about direction, sifting through his thoughts.

Sellerby had stood as Georgia’s friend in the matter of the dowager, but that might have fixed the idea of an incriminating letter in his mind. If it had actually existed then, and Dracy wasn’t sure how, Sellerby might even
have managed to steal it. Purely to protect Georgia, he was sure. However, when he saw Georgia beginning to triumph over scandal, and thus being courted by the likes of Beaufort, he’d had a weapon.

It was damned hard to believe. Sellerby, for all his foppishness, wanted to marry Georgia. He’d never want to fix the stains of scandal on his wife.

And yet, and yet…there had been something in his manner, and he was so damnably confident, despite Georgia’s attempts to warn him off.

Dracy realized something else. If his speculation was true, then Sellerby must have taken the letter to the ball in case of need. It would have been a cold-blooded, calculated plan. In that case, the man might try again, heaping scandal upon scandal until only he remained willing to marry her. It would be an insanely destructive course, but Dracy had known men driven beyond reason by passion for a woman.

If any of this was true, Sellerby didn’t truly love Georgia—he only burned to possess her. What was more, he didn’t know her. She’d beg for bread in the streets before marrying any man out of desperation. Dracy might not have spent a great deal of time with her, but he knew that.

He realized his footsteps were taking him back to Hernescroft House, where he could warn Georgia. She probably wasn’t there, however, and he shouldn’t distress her with such half-baked suspicions. He’d think on it. Even if Sellerby was so vile, he wouldn’t strike again yet.